


Astrid & Walter's Exceptional Mardi Gras

by Yung_Mofftiss (OnWednesdaysWeStudyinPink)



Category: Fringe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-31
Updated: 2009-12-31
Packaged: 2017-12-14 22:50:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/842269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnWednesdaysWeStudyinPink/pseuds/Yung_Mofftiss





	Astrid & Walter's Exceptional Mardi Gras

Astrid and Walter knocked on the Bishops’ New Orlean’s hotel room door. Well, Walter pounded his fist and Astrid slapped her palm against it repeatedly until a very irritated looking Peter opened the door. Together the two stumbled into the room; Olivia was sitting at the table by the window and it appeared they had been going over the file to the case they were working here during Mardi Gras.

Walter began jumping on his bed as he shouted, “Peter, we wanted to know if—“

Peter rolled his eyes. “Yes, you can watch cartoons, but try to keep the volume down.”

Astrid shook her head and pointed to the window. “No, we wanted to know if we could out and join in the festivities.”

Peter looked between them and then at Olivia. “I don’t know…”

“Please? We’d be out of your way,” Astrid said with a hopeful smile and puppy-dog eyes.

“We want to relive our youth. We want to get  _crazy_ ,” Walter said dramatically, his eyes wide.

Peter made a face at his father. “First of all, Astrid is only twenty-six—she’s in her youth. Secondly, you’re  _already_  crazy.”

“C’mon, Peter,” Astrid whined.

“Fine. But you need to be back by…” he glanced down at his watch, “three.”

“Yay!”

“Thank you!”

They barreled out of the hotel room and while Walter was obviously ready to go down to the festivities and start causing trouble of his own, Astrid stopped him.

“Hold on—I have to get something out of my room.”

Astrid’s room was on the third floor, directly below Walter and Peter’s, sandwiched between Olivia’s and Broyles’ and together they ran down the stairs and down the hall until they reached her room. She had to recover her wallet from the hotel safe

“You have a balcony!” Walter complained as he opened the door and stepped out.

“Peter specifically requested that the two of you get a room without one—he said you toss things off the ledge,” she said and he shrugged as she joined him.

“Look at me!” Walter screamed at the parade below.

Next to him, Astrid lifted up her top. “Up here!”

“Assistant!” he shrieked out, both horrified and amused.

“Oh, chill out. I have a bra on,” she said as she lowered her shirt and caught the two beads tossed up to her.

“I want one,” he says, trying to tug one of the beads out of her hand.

She shook her head. “I earned these.”

“ _You_  still had a bra on.”

Astrid had to agree he had a point and handed to him. “One and one.”

“We should see how many we can get by the end of the night. Though admittedly mine aren’t as impressive as yours,” he said, cupping his own chest as if he had breasts and she shook her head as she laughed.

* * *

About an hour of wandering around the hustle and bustle together, they came across something admittedly unusual.

“What the hell is a ‘segue tour’?” Walter asked as he read the sign that titled the sidewalk business.

Astrid read the smaller words on the sign. “They allow you to rent segues to ride around the sidewalks.”

“Take me on a tour!” Walter begged.

“Okay,” Astrid said with a laugh.

Astrid pulled out her wallet while Walter inspected each identical machine, trying to decide which one would move fastest. She paid for their rides, plus a refundable deposit for insurance and grabbed two helmets for them to wear while they went on their tour. Thankfully, the little course for them to use had been marked off with red arrows and after basic instructions, both set off on their evening tour around the block together.

“If I were homeless,” Walter declared after a while, “this is exactly what I'd want. I would put all my things in a wagon and pull it along behind me.”

Astrid laughed and decided against pointing out the obvious flaws in that plan. She held onto the handles nervously and admitted, “I'm scared to death I'm going to tip over.”

“It's all about balance—” he commented before he tipped over into the bushes.

Astrid felt just as wobbly. “C'mon, let's take these back. I'm tired of them.”

“High ho, Silver!” Walter shouted as he sped away down the sidewalk without her.

* * *

Deciding on something a little less risky and not so fast, Astrid and Walter scanned the options they had before them.

“’Paddle Ball Championship’ or ‘Topless Greased Pig Chase’?” she asked as she looked at the signs on two obviously competing bars.

“Greased pig chases never end well,” Walter said quite somberly.

“I'm really good at paddle ball,” Astrid added as they headed into the little dive hosting that competition.

Once inside, Astrid got herself into the contest with about ten other people.

“The rules are simple, last player standing wins and you're disqualified if you miss,” called out a man wearing a shirt that said ‘Fat Chicks Only’.

“What do we win?” a short brunette with freckles asked.

“Five hundred dollars,” the man in charge said and each contestant was a large mug of beer. “Also, you have to do it after drinking one of these.”

“Ew, it was all watered down,” she complained, sticking out her tongue when she finished chugging hers.

“On your mark, get set, go!”

“This is like the scene from ‘The Misfits’, only you’re not blonde,” Walter called out as two players were disqualified for missing straight away.

“Yeah, and they weren’t at Mardi Gras,” she replied.

After about five minutes the competition was between Astrid and a man who was glaring at Walter the entire time. Walter decided to use nature against him and repeatedly began to yawn until the man was helpless to do it himself, breaking his concentration enough that he missed.

“And it looks like we have a winner!”

Astrid screamed in triumph that she’d actually won, jumping up and down as the man in charge grabbed her hand and lifted it for the crowd to see. She and Walter squealed in delight as ten fifty-dollar bills were counted and then handed over to them.

“Let’s blow it on lapdances and cheap drinks!” Walter cried out as they left the bar.

“Well, I was thinking—oh my god, a power hour,” she said, stopping in her tracks as she looked at the giant banner displaying the playboy logo.

“What's a power hour?” he asked as she started dragging him to the bar filled with playboy bunnies and loud music.

“You take a shot once a minute. It's usually done to minute long songs,” she explained as they reached the door.

A pretty girl wearing the classic bunny ears while sitting at a table, demanded, “Twenty dollar cover charge!”

“We'd like to join in,” Walter said happily as he looked around the bustling room.

“Wristbands,” the Bunny said as she handed the limegreen straps over.

Astrid and Walter put their wristbands on while they found a small table to sit at. A red-headed Bunny with a microphone explained the rules of the game (one shot per minute, trade your empty glass for a new shot and a strand of beads, yada, yada, yada) and Astrid and Walter began to wiggle in their seats impatiently. Finally the red-headed Bunny wrapped up what she was saying.

“The Playboy Bunnys would like to thank everyone for coming. Whoo! Mardi Gras!” she shouted, throwing her hands in the air.

“That's French for ‘Fat Tuesday’!” Walter said excitedly.

Astrid, who spoke French, nodded fervently. “I know!”

“Don’t forget, if you start feeling sick, you should stop!” the Bunny reminded them and the room filled with loud, heavily pulsing music.

“Tom Jones!” Walter cried out happily

“Burning down the house!” Astrid sang loudly.

Walter played with the single bead strand around his neck. “How will we know when to—“

“JELLO SHOT!” the bunny screamed and Astrid and Walter quickly took their shots down.

“Mine was a bunny!” Walter said, thinking about the purple jello animal in his alcohol.

Astrid took traded an empty shot glass for a string of playboy logo beads and another jello shot. “Mine was too!”

After twenty-two beads, Astrid groaned and rest her cheek on the cool table surface.

“I'm going to puke if I have anymore,” she moaned.

Walter, who was getting tired of the cheap alcohol himself, patted her hand gently. “I can still keep going. I'll win for us.”

“Walter, you don't  _win_  anything. You just get beads.”

He made a face. “Oh.”

Leaving his seat, Walter snuck up behind the redhead bunny and grabbed all the beads out of her hands.

“Hey!” the bunny cried.

“Run for it, Afro!” Walter shouted as he grabbed on to her hand and bolted out of the bar with her.

The bunnies didn’t chase them too far, so Astrid and Walter made a fairly clean getaway and hid out in an alley two and half blocks away. They slumped against a cool brick wall and tried to catch their breath.

“Some for you, some for me!” he handed her half of the stolen beads.

“Yay beads!” Astrid said happily as she slipped the monstrous collection around her neck.

“We earned them,” he said as he proudly donned his.

“We  _stole_  them,” she corrected.

“And yet we managed to run out of there without falling over once!”

“True.” They wandered out of the alley, proudly displaying their new ornamentation. “Where to next?”

He pointed across the street to a park where a live band was playing and a hardwood dance floor had been set up. “Let’s go dance!”

“Let’s rhumba!” he sang, moving his hands and hips.

She listened to the music playing. “This is jazz!”

He grabbed hold of her. “Who cares?”

“Watch my toes,” she warned as they began to dance together.

“You’re a very good dancer,” he said as they moved to the music.

She winked at him. “You are, too.”

Over her shoulder, Walter saw something that caught his eye. “A buffet! I want to go there!”

“I want to stay and dance,” Astrid complained, trying to convince him not to leave

“Gimme some money and I’ll go eat,” he pleaded, trying to pick her wallet out of her jeans.

She sighed and handed him one of the fifties. “When it’s done, you have to come here.”

“I will.”

She grabbed him by the wrist. “Promise?”

“Yes!”

“Pinky swear,” she demanded.

He linked his pinky with hers. “I pinky swear.”

* * *

When Walter returned an hour and a half later, Astrid was sitting against one of the park’s trees, resting. He sat down next to her and pulled a napkin out of his pocket that was filled with shrimp and oyster crackers, offering it over to her.

As she took two of the shrimp, she pointed to her feet and lamented, “I lost my shoe.”

He stared at her bare foot for a moment and then offered his sweater. “Put this on and I'll give you a ride.”

She hurried upright and slipped his large cardigan on and he knelt down on one knee so he could give her a piggyback ride. “Allie-oop!”

“Whee!” she said cheerfully, but clutched at his shoulders as he stumbled to get up. “Careful! Don't lose your balance!”

“Thank you for not having a fat ass,” Walter said appreciatively.

“You're welcome! Tally ho!”

* * *

“Are we at the hotel?” Astrid asked when she woke up, still being carried on Walter’s back.

He turned his head so she could see his smile. “Yes. You fell asleep.”

“How long?”

“About an hour.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been carrying me for an hour?”

He smiled bashfully. “I got lost.”

She felt bad that he’d been lugging her around for so long and slid off his back. “Sorry I can’t return the favour.”

“It’s okay.”

“I have to pee,” Astrid whined.

Walter looked around and pointed to their right. “There are some bushes over there—“

“Walter, I’m not going to go pee in the hotel’s bushes,” she complained.

He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms across his chest. “ _Fine_.”

Up the elevator to the fourth floor and down a hallway to the Bishops’ room, Astrid danced around a bit while Walter banged his fist loudly on the door.

Peter flung the door open and Astrid and Walter charged in shouting, “We’re back!”

“Where have you two been?” Peter asked, looking at little disgruntled at the noise they were making.

“No where,” Astrid said, fluffing her curls with her fingers.

Olivia gestured to her chest. “From those beads, I'd have to disagree.”

“Where are yours?” Walter asked, plucking a small bit of confetti out of his son’s hair.

Peter swatted his father’s hands away. “I don't have any. I’ve been working.”

“You told us we could go out, so we did,” Walter exclaimed and lay down on the bed, promptly falling asleep.

“I have someone’s phone number written across my stomach!” Astrid exclaimed as she lifted up her t-shirt to expose her midriff. “Peter, give me a pen and write this number on the back of my hand.”

“This is a Boston area code,” he pointed out as he copied the phone number on the back of her hand.

“I have a secret admirer!” she sang loudly.

* * *

On the FBI’s private plane back to Boston, Olivia left her seat to sit across from Peter and smile mischievously at him. “So?”

He looked up from the Popular Mechanics magazine he was reading. “So what?”

“Where did you hide your beads?” she whispered.

“In my suitcase. I had to tear out the lining,” he said, trying not to smile as broadly as her.

“How many did you get?” she asked and he set down the magazine.

“Forty-one. You?”

“Forty-two. I beat you,” she said, holding up a hand to demand a high-five.

“Yes, you did.” He looked across the small cabin to make sure his father was still sleeping then murmured to Olivia, “Walter had about two hundred.”

“Liar.”

He nodded. “I’m serious. But I think he also stole some of them.”

Olivia thought for a moment then asked, “Were they the Playboy ones? Because at the Playboy Bunny party, they were talking about an older man stealing all the beads during their third power hour.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Then it was him.”

“Astrid had a ton of beads. I didn’t count, but she could pretty much start her own business.”

They glanced over to Astrid, who was fast asleep with her head on Walter’s shoulder.

“I also found one of her shoes in his luggage.” Peter pulled a small silver sandal out of his backpack.

“Tiny,” Olivia observed.

Peter made a face. “It’s stretched out slightly. I think he tried putting it on.”

“Is Dr Bishop still sleeping?” Broyles asked as he came from the lavatory back into the cabin.

Peter nodded as he put the shoe back in his pack. “Completely out of it.”

Broyles made a move to leave them, but paused. “And can either of you tell me why Agent Farnsworth has my personal cell phone number written on the back of her hand?”


End file.
